


A Promise Only Wild Things Could Keep

by Bottomfeeder



Category: The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: BFFs, Dreamsharing, F/M, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Multi, POV Dickon Sowerby, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, WARNING: American author writing British for first time, Yorkshire -- AARRRGGHH!!, a life less ordinary - Freeform, but pretty damn mild, not to mention period British involving two separate social classes -- including, teenaged Colin Craven, teenaged Dickon Sowerby, teenaged Mary Lennox, the road less traveled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomfeeder/pseuds/Bottomfeeder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years later, Mary, Dickon, and Colin are wound together as tightly as ever, even though what's proper might try to creep in uninvited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Only Wild Things Could Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SignsOnAvenues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignsOnAvenues/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, SignsOnAvenues! I hope I didn't do too disastrously on the dialect side of things. Hopefully, characterization will work for you regardless. (I decided to go with this fandom even though I was matched with you because of The Fosters. For some reason, I just assumed every one was a Brandon/Callie shipper. I suddenly realized I didn't know how to write a non-Brandon/Callie Fosters fic. D'oh! Cue re-reading one of my favorite books as a kid that I hadn't looked at in years. Hope this suffices.)

The three of them were in the garden, o’ course, as it were in the midst of another gorgeous spring, an' to no one’s surprise, Colin was moved by the buzzin’ an’ singin’ an’ cawin’ an’ fresh scents an’ glorious colors of their private little kingdom to declare his plans to them under the plum tree that offered them shade and drifting pink petals that stuck in hair an' eyelashes.

 

“You will be my business partner of course, Dickon. You are plenty clever enough, and certainly useful, and -- ” Colin broke off to give Dickon the most sly, impish grin as if one of Mary’s Indian fakirs had conjured him, “-- _fairly_ tolerable when tha’ makest a sufficiently graidely effort.”

 

Dickon thought he looked graidely satisfied with himself all puffed up like a bird in winter, chirpin’ a queer mix of his own formal way of speakin’ an' the broad Yorkshire that clever Mary had first taught him. Dickon's own way of speakin' was itsel' as if two different types o' language birds had mated to hatch a whole new one that dipped in midflight from Yorkshire to Misselthwaite. And he had learnt a great deal more words in the years since Colin and Mary had first set forth "The Grand Teaching Experiment" to improve his readin' and writin' as markedly as he had helped Colin to walk an' Mary to dig earth. It certainly had given his mother a shock with his newfound hunger for the written word in the first several months that followed the commencing of the experiment.

 

Before Dickon had ever laid eyes on Colin and Mary -- and he could scarce remember such a life, though he’d lived the first twelve years of his life without them -- he had never been teased in such a manner. He found he rather liked it. Ma had taken to sayin’ the two had a fox's devious influence on him, though she meant nowt harm by it. It had not gone unnoticed that these days, he now looked out of the corners of his eyes just as much as he tilted them up to the sky. _“I would worry if tha’ weren’t still so careful with growin’ things an' the tasks I set tha’ to,”_ she had reassured him.

 

While Dickon had been distracted with such thoughts, Mary had seen cause for kickin’ herself up into a little fury, making him wonder if she planned to start wutherin'.

 

“Hey!” Mary glared at Colin and flicked his ear. None too gently, neither. Female creatures could fool a boy with their smaller size and quieter manners right up until the moment they got fierce with him after one misplaced foot. And then they didn’t seem so small or quiet.

 

“I’m not just going to be married off to some painfully dull man or perfect my embroidery just because you can’t bother to include me in your grand Rajah plans.”

 

Mary detested embroidery and all kinds of things involving thread. She had no patience for it, fine and delicate as her fingers were and despite her sharp eyes. Colin and Dickon had played audience to many a speech about the general loathsomeness of embroidery. It was something she was presently fixated upon, ever since it had been suggested by the latest governess that she was well behind other young ladies in suitable hobbies and alarmingly skilled in other boyish ones such as climbing things and running. Every time the subject came up, Dickon felt rather awful about it. Female creatures didn’t like to be confined against their will any more than male ones did.

 

“ _Ow!_ Stop it, foul demon!” Colin batted at Mary’s pretty, brutish hands. “I meant _our_ business partner. When do any of us do something we want to do without the other two? I thought that was understood, Mistress Quite Contrary! I’m going to keep all of the clotted cream for myself, now.”

 

“Oh.” Mary looked thoughtfully down at some crocuses by her knee. Captain, who had yipped in annoyance at the disturbance of his resting place, laid his head back down when Mary stroked his velvety orange muzzle.

 

“And what would that business be, exactly?” she asked, curiosity brightening her expression.

 

Colin lazily swiped his hand through the air as if the practical details of such a large undertaking were no more than an annoying cloud of tiny insects. “Any business we want. Whatever we’re good at and enjoy doing.

 

And then a devilish look passed over his face as he looked out of the corner of his eyes and stood up. It lent him a dark vibrating energy, like the spaces between the sounds of distant thunder. “Unless, that is, _Mary_ gets bewitched by some horrible monster clad in a plum-coloured waistcoat.”

 

Richard Winterbottom, a vague acquaintance of Colin’s father, had visited Misselthwaite Manor a few times now, at the encouragement of Mary's most recent and also most aggravatin' governess. (Dickon would have found it more alarmin' how she was always tryin' to get Mary to do that which was against her nature, if'n it weren't impossible to get Mary to behave any way she didn't choose to do so hersel'.) He had been quite taken with Mary, despite her coldness towards him. To Mary’s fury, Mester Craven had allowed it at first, thinking of Mary’s future, 'fore she set him straight with a tantrum that rivaled Colin’s in the days when he thought himself doomed to fatal illness and a hideous hump on his back. There had been a great deal o’ stampin’ o’ feet an’ slammin’ o’ doors an’ screams that sounded like a murder was bein’ committed. Dickon had held Soot close to his chest and hummed a little ditty so that he wouldn’t fly at Mester Craven’s head on Mary's behalf and get turned into supper by one o’ the servants as reward for his bravery.

 

Mary shrieked again now, though more quietly, always mindful of the garden, an’ it seemed like a murder _would_ take place, given that she was presently sitting on an equally screechy Colin, demanding he take it back at once. This only made him break up into laughter that made him shake so powerfully he seemed weak as a newborn lamb, with as little control of his limbs.

 

Then he suddenly went quiet and still. One moment he was full of wild amusement, the next he as was solemn and hushed as fresh winter snowfall. “Dickon, swear,” he said in a low voice that made the little hairs rise on Dickon’s arms though it was a sunny spring day.

 

Nut an’ Shell stopped chasin' each other up an' down trees. Soot flew down from his perch in the plum tree to perch on Colin’s arm instead an’ stare at Dickon with his black inkwell eyes as if he were tryin' to drown him with 'em. Mary stopped beating Colin with the particularly large rose she'd been using as a weapon. Both of them were covered with petals. The petals that had been flying about in midair seemed to hover, tremblin' there as if waitin' for somethin' to set 'em back in motion. “Yes, _swear_. Dickon, you must,” Mary said in a hushed eager whisper.

 

“Eh? Swear what?” Dickon thought he had already made so many promises to these two little streaks o' lightnin'. He'd sworn hissel’ to secrecy about gardens an’ becoming stronger in 'em, and never suggestin’ one should take up embroidery or learn to be a proper lady or especially not press one to find men in plum-colored waistcoats or any other color waistcoats agreeable. He couldn't dream of what sort of oath he had left out. He didn’t object to makin' promises to either of them, mind. He just couldn’t grasp what else was left.

 

Colin saw his confusion and snorted. As was his way where friendship was involved, he began commanding what needed doin' in a princely manner, yet buckled into an anguished plea. “Swear we’ll always be together. The three of us. That you’ll _never_ leave us. No matter what is proper or responsible. You must promise, Dickon. Please!”

 

A shock of silence struck the garden and every living thing in it went still and perfectly set as the cut crystal glasses used for drinkin’ wine at Misselthwaite Manor, with the sunlight perfectly captured an’ glintin’ from every part of every creature that could hold light, makin’ rainbows bounce off each vein to be found in a gossamer wing, every purple an’ blue an’ green tint in a black feather, each shade o’ gold in Mary’s wild hair, an’ each fleck of silver in Colin’s eyes, an’ every thrown rose petal quiverin’ upon the air – just restin’ alongside the bees vibratin’ midflight, suspended in time. Even the sweet scents of earth an' gorse an' roses seemed to pause.

 

It was as if very tree an' flower an' lad an' lass an' animal held its breath with ears pricked an’ eyes fixed on Dickon’ waitin’ to see how he answered.

Dickon felt the combined weight of not only Mary and Colin’s fierce gazin' and ferocious wishin', but that of their animal companions as well. It was clear as the spring sky scrubbed a fresh rain that this was not a thing to be taken lightly. That Magic might be at work in such a promise. A promise such as this in a world such as this could very well cause _things_ to happen. Wild and dangerous things that he tried not to glimpse except for out of the corners of his eyes. But Dickon also knew that to deny them this wish would be to break three hearts all at once. And that was something he could not do no matter the cost. For two of those hearts were the dearest he’d ever known.

“Only if tha’ll lie down an’ stop screechin’ like bloody foxes durin’ matin’ season.”

 

The starlings in the plum tree Colin, Dickon an’ Mary had been playin’ under exploded into a racket o’ rapid call-and-response whistles an' clicks an’ chirps.

 

“ _Dickon!_ " Mary gasped. She immediately glanced over at Colin, whose own scandalized yet delighted expression was the twin to her own. Their cheeks went bright with the same precise shade of pretty pink as the roses that ran rampant on the wall across from them.

 

Dickon grinned to himself at the sight and then raised his eyebrows at the starlings an’ spoke loud enough so’s the raucous birds would hear his chastisin’ of them over their own noise. “Such gossips, starlings are. ’s a fair bit o’ luck there aren’t many human folk that can understand tha’.

To which they clattered at in an even louder response.

 

Dickon gazed back at his friends. With suspicious obedience, Mary and Colin lied down where Dickon sat. They moved with an eerie quiet grace that one would scarcely believe after watchin’ the coarse pushin’ an’ pullin’ at one another only a moment ago, if one hadn’t seen it for onesel’. But Dickon knew the ways of wild things, an’ sure as anythin’ Colin an’ Mary had always been pure wild things to him that happened to be clothed in the ways of a manor. It was why they three all got on so well. Wild beasts might be thrashin’ limbs an’ snappin’ teeth in mock battle one moment, an’ the next fallin’ back to the ground all lazy and meltin’ from contentment like a pat o’ butter on a roll fresh from the hearth.

 

Dickon’s two dearest friends displayed nothing if not the queer beauty and liquid grace of such creatures. Colin often appeared to Dickon as a stormcloud reborn in person form. His flashing grey eyes always threatened to loose rain an’ thunder upon the world, while his moon-pale skin an' messy curly hair that was as dark as Soot’s feathers made one think perhaps the moor’s late-night wutherin' had soaked into his skin and become a part of him.

 

And Mary, with her tangled golden mane that fell down her back and long muscled limbs that owed their strength to the exercises first begun to improve Colin’s health years ago but that they never grew out of, an’ all the running about out in the fresh air, an’ jumpin’ rope, she reminded Dickon of a lion. Especially when she roared in fury or met Dickon’s gaze with cool blue eyes that echoed the common blood she shared with Colin with their hints o’ grey, but that shone with a fierce light all her own.

 

These two fearsome creatures watched Dickon an’ followed him wi’ their eyes with every slight movement he made. In the sunlight that peeked through the shifting branches, their eyes blazed colours as full o' glory as any flower. A mixture of wariness an’ hopefulness warred on their faces. It was the same look Dickon had spied on many a creature abandoned by their mother too young. Such a sad happenin’ made an animal both more vulnerable and more dangerous. It was a look that Dickon could never turn away from.

 

Colin was nearest, so Dickon stretched out his legs and leaned on an elbow to face him. He imagined his fingertip was a butterfly as he set it upon Colin’s thick black eyelashes that fluttered delicately at the contact. His cheeks heated to an even deeper pink. Next Dickon cupped Mary’s cheek while Colin observed as carefully as he did when performing an experiment. Her wonder-filled expression broke into a smile that made her whole being seem to glow. 

 

Dickon began humming to entice the robin that perched somewhere above them in the gently swaying trees to join him in a tune. Dickon was far too content with where his hands were presently to bother pickin’ up the pipes.

 

Mary spoke as if in a trance. “Maybe something to do with the study of roses . . . and . . . other plants . . . ”

 

“Don’t forget inventions . . . ” Colin murmured next to her, just as sleepily. He laid his head upon Mary’s shoulder, who didn’t offer the slightest bit o’ protest.

 

Dickon lied down shoulder to shoulder beside him and smiled a smile full of shared secret plans as he soothed his perfect beasts with a melody meant to tug them into an afternoon nap. He sang them into the gentlest of enchantments. The kind that laid no more pressure upon their souls than that of a dragonfly’s wingbeat. He let the Magic overtake his own wakefulness as well, to escape further temptation of things he feared to truly see or fully hope to hold within his grasp just yet.

 

So Dickon offered them a wordless song full of things sent to follow them into their dreams: 

 

Dickon's, and then the Robin's, clear sweet voice created endless, vivid blue skies and moorland to run upon in which to hold all of Mary’s stamping-footed demands for the freedom to grow up as she wished to grow up, and to keep and lose whosever company she chose. A robin darted to-an’-fro ahead to remind her to keep seeking out the secret places, while fox pair nipped her heels to urge her onward an' show that she would never have to get to where she was goin’ all alone. A good-natured murder of crows flapped just above her head, beaks full of cacklin’ laughter. 

 

As she caught one of their gazes, its black liquid eye filled the world around her with dark mystery that spread until it swallowed her up an' pulled her in to a great glitterin’ expanse of stars that shined on tall wooden shelves that went on as far as the horizon. They held more ancient, magic books and new, scientific books than any one man could possibly read in his whole life.

 

It was there Mary found Colin sittin’ on the back o’ the bare gorse-covered hill with a telescope to one eye and an enormous beast of a volume in his lap. More telescopes and other unfamiliar contraptions piled around him. Small mountains of dangerously stacked books waited on either side of him like sentries. Mary dropped down beside him as she gasped happily for breath.

 

He greeted her with just as much happy breathlessness. “ _Everything_ , Mary! Everything! Just imagine: I’m going to discover it _all_! The three of us are.” He stood suddenly and looked about. “Where’s Dickon?”

 

And then the full moon rose and set again. The sky turned from night to day to night again, bleeding into each other so fast they seemed to overlap. Colin grabbed Mary’s hand. A joyful bit o’ pipin’ rippled through the air with a more complicated structure of melody than they had ever heard played before, which caused Mary and Colin to squeeze each other’s hands in relief, and also nervous excitement. As the piping tune got nearer, it carried Dickon along with it, as much as he carried it, as well as Captain an’ Soot an’ the Robin an’ the orphaned lamb that was now a sheep an’ Nut an’ Shell.

 

Dickon joined them in the marvelous dream he'd played for them, for as long as this queer, magical lass an’ this queer, magical lad would greet him with the same graidely joy in their voices an’ on their beautiful faces as lived inside his own heart, he would come when they called an’ fortify this nest they’d built together, begun five years ago that never fell apart or faded with all the seasons they'd lived together. 

 

Mary grabbed Dickon's hand and Colin gifted him a smile that transformed his stormy countenance. The three of them stood at the highest point of the moor under a sky in which the sunset blazed in fiery reds an’ oranges an’ purples an’ pinks, an enormous full moon cast blue light, an’ fallin’ stars streaked by all at once. In the distance there stood a grand house, or perhaps a palace or a manor -- it wasn’t clear yet just what its true shape held or how far away it laid upon the distant hill -- that was fit for a Rajah, an angel, a bewitcher.

 

Or perhaps, simply three practitioners of Magic yet to be discovered.


End file.
